


Space

by cynthia_arrow (thesilverarrow)



Category: Lost
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, Travel, crankiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-13 23:07:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7141940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesilverarrow/pseuds/cynthia_arrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-island. Jack and Sawyer finally decide to stop sleeping in the car during their trek across the southwest. The hotel, thank God, has a pool.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Space

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to livejournal.

They'd driven two days straight across Arizona and New Mexico and Texas before Sawyer finally let Jack whip out his shiny little credit card and get them a motel room. He wanted to bitch about it, about how he'd be more comfortable—no, _they'd_ be more comfortable—at a Motel 6 or something, but even a cranky, grungy, and travel-weary Sawyer had to admit he liked the looks of the big aqua-bright, clean pool in the courtyard of the place. And the half-naked people sunning themselves beside it.  
  
And the idea that Jack would soon be one of those half-naked people. They hadn't fucked since they left the Grand Canyon, given that Jack hated having sex inside the car and Sawyer hated having sex _outside_ the car. On the side of the road and in one rest area bathroom, they'd rushed through hand jobs and blow jobs with all their clothes on, dicks hastily pulled out and prepared to be even more hastily tucked back in if they had to be. Sawyer hadn't realized how much he needed full-body contact—his skin sliding against Jack's skin, Jack's weight on top of him—until he went without if for a couple of days. It made him lonely, even though Jack was right there beside him, slapping his hand away from the radio because he would _not_ listen to any more Lynyrd Skynyrd on the radio.  
  
The pool wasn't particularly crowded with people when they got there, but there were enough lovely ladies and hard-bodied men to keep Sawyer more than enthralled, despite the scorching East Texas day. Sawyer was normally a looker, but especially so today, because if he kept his eyes solely on Jack, he'd want to drag him off like a caveman back to their room and fuck, but they needed this first—to get clean and cool, wash the draining, dusty travel off themselves. So Sawyer took a short but rejuvenating dip in the pool and then planted himself on a deck chair, laid out on his back drying in the sun, wondering how many pairs of eyes were on him.  
  
Not Jack's, though. Jack had actually brought a book out to the pool. After diving into the deep end and paddling around for a few minutes, he'd climbed out and taken up a seat beside Sawyer. He raised the deck chair to a sitting position and went about reading his damn book like his boyfriend wasn't lying there all warm and glistening beside him. It was enough to give a man a complex. Sawyer was all for the reading of books—he liked to think he'd passed on that particular love to Jack since they'd gotten off the island—but Jack had already been reading all morning. In the car. Something that, dammit, Sawyer couldn't do without getting a headache. And he'd been reading _The DaVinci Code_. Sawyer wondered how he hadn't managed to pass on any _taste_ to the man.  
  
So while Sawyer watched the eye candy at the pool getting in and out, toweling off, settling down on their deck chairs, Jack just sat there half under an umbrella, with his sunglasses on, reading and ignoring the rest of the world in the way that only Jack could when he finally chose to relax. Sawyer tried not to resent that. He just got up and dropped back into the pool at about the five-foot mark, determined to get cool again and enjoy himself as much as possible.  
  
When he was invited a few minutes later to join a game of something like volleyball over the dividing rope, he shrugged his shoulders and waded over. The captain, though probably well nigh 15 years younger than him, was fucking adorable, and his girlfriend wasn't altogether bad looking either. He looked up to see if Jack noticed, and he did. But he didn't seem the slightest bit curious or perturbed. He just smiled good-naturedly and buried his nose back in his book. So Sawyer did his best to very maturely ignore him.  
  
Once the twenty-somethings said goodbye, after inviting him out for drinks later, he was left to himself again and his ogling of the only two remaining bikini-clad girls beside the pool. One wandered over to him and sat down on the side of the pool, her long, thin legs dangling into the water. He didn't let himself touch them, but he sure as hell talked to her, smiled at her, dunked himself under the water to be all nice and wet for her. Really, though, there was no chemistry there, and even if there was, he only wanted to be in bed with one person that night, and it was the nerdy motherfucker in the black swimming trunks, sitting under an umbrella, reading a motherfucking _book_ at the pool, oblivious to the fact that his boyfriend was getting friendly with a half-naked woman. It would have been infuriating if he didn't know, with that sort of clutch in his stomach thinking too much about their relationship always gave him, that it wasn't that Jack didn’t care. He simply trusted him.  
  
They must've stayed out there a couple of hours, long enough for the sun to start descending the sky. The sunbathers went in, and a couple of no-nonsense lap swimmers came out. But Sawyer couldn't make himself get out of the pool, because that meant intruding on Jack's quiet, and, truthfully, he was enjoying his own quiet time, without Jack's elbow crowding at his or his snoring in his ear. This was good space, he thought. Not too close, but not really separated, either. A prelude to later, when there would be no more space.  
  
Sawyer planted himself on the steps of the shallow end, halfway wishing that he had a book of his own, about the time a middle-aged woman came through the gate and sat a towel and a bottle of water on the table across from Jack. Sure, he and Jack were middle-aged (at least Jack was; he was still clinging to being pre-forty), but they he didn't feel like they were. There was a difference between what was on your driver's license and how you felt and acted. This woman, he was quite sure after his years of practiced study, acted and felt middle aged. She probably wore neat little sweaters and pressed slacks and had a respectable, easy, boring life somewhere. Or maybe she was a mother, someone who probably wore ill-fitting, out-of-date clothes because she didn’t have the time or the money or the give a damn to stay current or do anything but be practical. He could respect that, and he could respect the idea that this might be her own small bit of solitude and relaxation, a way to ignore the press of years for a little while. He appreciated the hell out of that, actually.  
  
What he could not appreciate was when she opened her mouth and started talking to Jack. And Jack talked back.  
  
She had looked like she meant to get in the pool, discarding the worn white pool towel to reveal a black one-piece swimsuit that suited her body, made her look modest and secure. Her eyes had only glanced over Jack—she had a husband, maybe, or else she was fucking blind—but then when she'd seen what he was reading, she made a comment Sawyer couldn't hear, and Jack's head jerked up and he smiled.  
  
Before long, Jack had taken off his sunglasses and extended his hand to shake hers, and she'd taken up a position on Sawyer's own deck chair. He knew they were talking about the book—laughing at each other's reactions and intently exclaiming over plot points—but he didn't care about that. He only cared that Jack was smiling in a way he hadn't seen him smile all day. Finally, Jack laid the book aside and they seemed to transition into discussing their lives, innocent chatting about where they were from and what they did. Or at least Jack told him that later. At the time, all he could think about was getting his pruney ass out of the pool and stomping back to their room to sulk. It didn't occur to him that he wanted to do that just because he wanted Jack's attention.  
  
He didn't want to go over there, but he had to to get the key card. He just plucked it off the table, said a cursory hello to Jack's friend, and said he'd see him in a little while.  
  
He was in the shower washing the chlorine out of his hair a few minutes later when he felt all the steam go out of the bathroom. Jack's voice floated in. "Can I join you?"  
  
"No point. I'm almost done," Sawyer snapped back, and the door shut again.  
  
He knew he was being petty, but he couldn't help it. And now he was just being ridiculous, because more than anything he'd wanted Jack to climb into the shower with him. Now he would have to own up to being silly. There would be a lot of talk and him apologizing for being a jealous asshole and Jack giving him that grow-up-already-Jesus-I-love-you-you-idiot face. He dried off slowly, deciding between the blow job to end all blow jobs or letting Jack fuck him hard into an uncomfortable hotel mattress as penance.  
  
But when he came out of the bathroom, Jack was sitting placidly on the queen-sized bed, drinking from a can of coke and watching baseball. Not the Red Sox, though, because he looked at him as soon as he came out, and he switched off the TV.  
  
"Well, I don't know about you, but I feel better," Jack said cheerily. "So, I was thinking we find a steak house for dinner. I don't know if I can eat any more Mexican."  
  
Sawyer's jaw dropped. He couldn't even articulate a response for a moment. "So you're all…happy…and now we're just gonna…act like…"  
  
Jack giggled. "Get over it, already, Sawyer. So I didn't get all hot under the collar when you were out there slapping asses with that kid over whatever the hell game you were playing. You're mine. End of story," he said with this cocky tone, light but serious. He got up, then, and began to rummage in his suitcase. "Now, I'm gonna get a shower, if you didn't use all the hot water."  
  
"So you did notice?"  
  
"Yeah," Jack said, shrugging. "They were hot. You were hot."  
  
"Oh, I was?"  
  
Jack grinned. "We're gonna have to fuck before we got out, aren't we?"  
  
Sawyer almost relented, he almost smiled at that. But he didn't. Instead, he stepped up behind Jack, where he stood still digging through his bag. "I didn't think fucking me was a chore."  
  
"That's not what I meant." Jack's body swayed back against his, his swimming trunks rubbing over the towel around Sawyer's waist.  
  
"What makes you think," he said in his ear, his hands sliding around Jack's waist to close over his stomach, "that I wouldn't notice you talking to that woman?"  
  
Jack's shoulders shifted. He was trying not to laugh, but he was anyway. "We were talking about the book, Sawyer. Not planning some secret midnight rendezvous."  
  
"Better not have been," Sawyer growled in his ear.  
  
Jack took in a breath to laugh, but instead Sawyer felt his whole body go tight, and he was suddenly pressed right up against him, leaning back into his arms, rubbing his ass against Sawyer's growing erection. "Jesus."  
  
"You weren't even trying, were you?"  
  
"No." Jack's neck rolled forward as Sawyer's lips met the nape of his neck, and Jack let out a moan of breath and shuddered. "We were just talking. I didn't even think…"  
  
"You weren't just talking. You were laughing." Jack's head almost turned. He almost said something in response, but Sawyer murmured. "No, baby, I want you to laugh, be happy. I just wish I could—"  
  
"It's just that we just needed a break."  
  
"I know that," Sawyer said against his neck.  
  
Finally, Jack turned in his arms, and Sawyer could feel how hard he was. Jack pushed his shorts down his hips until they fell off, and with a kiss to Sawyer's neck, he coaxed Sawyer's towel open, letting it fall, so that they could slide hot and hard together, bodies fitting and molding in that way Sawyer loved, especially since it could still, after all these months, so quickly light such a blazing fire inside him. "Do you?" Jack said. "Just two hours to decompress, Sawyer, and I could already feel it all coming back. I'm not tired anymore, and I'm not cranky. And you looked damn good in those blue trunks."  
  
"But you didn't…when I came in…"  
  
"It's not my fault your stubborn ass wouldn't let me in the shower."  
  
Jack just grinned at him and captured his mouth with his, making him groan and buck forward. It was a long, deep kiss, and Sawyer felt every bit of jealousy and stress melt away, dissipate as Jack held him tighter and tighter, kissing him now fiercely, hungrily, they way he always did when he wanted to make Sawyer hotter and more desperate. Sawyer's hand slid around his neck, thumb tweaking that sensitive spot on the shell of his ear, and suddenly Jack was kissing Sawyer like he was desperate too.  
  
After a couple of minutes of that, enough to make him squirmy and a little insane with wanting to get off, he murmured in Jack's ear, "You gonna fuck me?"  
  
Jack gave him a skeptical look, given that most times he was more than happy to let Sawyer be on top, but he didn't hesitate. He just kissed him hard and pointed to the bed and went to go dig out the lube.  
  
Sawyer stroked himself as he watched Jack impatiently rummage through both of their bags before he found the KY. Sawyer pulled his knees up, let Jack crawl between his legs and lean over him, already probing a slick finger at his entrance. When he was in the mood for it, he really did love how Jack defied his initial impression of the man. He'd thought he would be slow, methodical about his lovemaking—and he could be, just like Sawyer could—but most times, especially when he was in charge like this, he was quick and efficient. Jack got more and more visibly turned on the faster and harder he could get them into the act. When Sawyer wasn't opening him up carefully and forcing him to slow down for sex, the real Jack came out, with an intensity and power Sawyer needed from time to time.  
  
He wasn't at all careful when he fisted the lube over his cock, concentrating most of it at the head, and he slid in with a shove. But he always waited for Sawyer to tell him to move again. Sawyer felt so full, too hot, but he clawed at his back and said, "Fuck, Jack. Do it." And Jack pulled out and thrust back in again.  
  
Sawyer kept forcing his knees higher, his hips wider, his muscles to release around Jack's cock as it filled him. He wanted him deeper, his body falling closer to his own with every thrust. Eventually, Sawyer managed to pull Jack into a kiss, and Jack groaned into his mouth, fucking his tongue so much it was sloppy as hell but Sawyer didn't mind, not when Jack suddenly tore his lips away and panted out, "God, yes. Fuck, Sawyer, _oh_ ," and came inside him.  
  
Sawyer jerked himself hard as he watched and felt Jack come down from his orgasm, still thrusting into him. When Sawyer grunted and came all over the both of them, pumping himself under Jack's sex-hazy gaze, he just wanted to grind his body up and into Jack's, to be burying himself inside him, be fucking him, too, just to get a little closer.  
  
But this was close enough, Jack collapsing on top of him and murmuring in his ear about _gorgeous_ and _hot_ and _tight_ and _needed_ and _so good_. Sawyer felt himself sigh, looking up at that nondescript hotel ceiling and realizing he was as happy as he'd ever been in his life, probably.  
  
When Jack said _I love you_ , he said it back.  
  
They settled into a nice position to maybe take a nap in, but they both knew they'd want to get up and get clean again and probably get something to eat.  
  
Jack said, "You didn't use all the hot water, did you?"  
  
"Nope." He kissed Jack on the temple. "So, are you _really_ already sick of Mexican food?"  
  
"Are you kidding me?"  
  
"There are such things are Tex-Mex steakhouses."  
  
Jack giggled and lay his arm across Sawyer's stomach, "Sure. Sounds good."  
  
But neither one of them moved a muscle to get up.


End file.
